


I Think I'm In Love

by BeautyInChains



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Bathroom Sex, Billy is the front man for an 80s hair cover band, Blow Jobs, M/M, Musical References, Public Blow Jobs, Shenanigans, Throat Fucking, boys' night out, musical foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 09:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16972461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyInChains/pseuds/BeautyInChains
Summary: It isn't until the stage lights up that Steve realizes that Dustin has pulled him front and center. And that front and center is where they put the front man. The ridiculously gorgeous, big-bulge having front man. Who is staring right at Steve. The toes of his big glossy boots nudge Steve's fingers where Steve's clinging to the stage. He grips the mic stand and sinks down low, scarf swishing tantalizingly in front of Steve's nose."Well, well, well. Wasn't sure they'd like a Pretty Boy like you into a place like this," he rumbles, "But I'm glad they did."





	I Think I'm In Love

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a WIP for months, but I've come back to it a few times recently and I am pleased to say it is finally complete! This started out with the concept of Billy dressed like Michael Starr of Steel Panther. And then developed into Billy singing one of their filthy songs and getting Steve all riled up and...here we are! Please do yourselves a favour and google images of Steel Panther to enjoy some truly outstanding outfits!!
> 
> Songs featured include:  
> Cum On Feel The Noize-Quiet Riot  
> Rock You Like a Hurricane-Scorpions  
> Gloryhole-Steel Panther  
> I Think I'm In Love-Eddie Money
> 
> Unbeta'd, con-crit/kudos/comments most welcome <3

"It's gonna be AWESOME!"

It is not gonna be awesome, of this Steve is sure. Eighties hair metal? Some lame college cover band? Steve can think of about a million other ways he'd rather be spending his Friday night, but he disguises a grimace by plastering a big smile on his face. Because that's what he does, and because Dustin looks _so_ damn excited.

Dustin had told Steve glumly over lunch one day that Mike had bailed on their boys' night out, even though Dustin had bought the tickets ages ago. Steve's not really sure why Dustin had needed to purchase tickets so far in advance when the venue was some skeevy dive bar downtown, but he's stopped asking questions when it comes to most things Dustin involves himself in.

The thing is, this really isn't Steve's scene. A slam poetry reading at a local cafe? Absolutely. Wine Tastings at the Art Gallery just off campus? He's in. But this? This just seems very...gauche. Unfortunately all it had taken was one sad, long look across the table before Steve was agreeing to joining Dustin. Because Steve is weak. And there are very few things that can make him cave in the way a sad Dustin can. What was one stupid night out in the name of friendship anyway?

"These guys are SO cool, Steve," Dustin says loudly over the music blaring through the old, blown-out speakers, "You're gonna love them!"

Steve is not going to love them. Steve also wishes Dustin would keep his attention on the road ahead instead of drumming along on the steering wheel to the music and looking at Steve while Dustin is talking to him. He knew it was a mistake to let Dustin drive. Stick, no less. In the city. Steve nods in acknowledgement, grabs a hold of the wheel to redirect the car when Dustin starts to drift into oncoming traffic.

"Jesus, eyes on the road, dipshit."

"Ah, shit! Sorry!"

"Not gonna see a fucking thing if you crash the car."

"Touché!"

"Ugh, this was a mistake."

" _Steve_!"

 

It takes them forever to find parking near the venue. Between Dustin's inability to parallel park and his unwillingness to relinquish control of the driver's seat they end up having to walk four city blocks. Steve grumbles the entire time, but it's hard to be too upset with the way Dustin is grinning and skipping along the sidewalk dressed in a head to toe hodgepodge of classic metal t-shirt, khakis, and bright orange baseball cap. He's a walking fashion faux-pas and he couldn't give a single fuck. Steve has always appreciated that about him.

There's a lineup wrapped around the side of the building, but Dustin appears unfazed as they roll up at the end. Steve wraps his arms around himself self-consciously. If anyone sticks out like a sore thumb right now, it's him. To make matters worse they're standing at the mouth of a dank looking alleyway. Steve resists the urge to pat himself down to reassure himself that he does still, in fact, have his wallet.

"Ohhhh my God, Steve don't look!" Dustin says.

Except he doesn't specify at all what Steve should not be looking at and so Steve absolutely looks. It turns out the thing that Steve should not be looking at is a guy. But Steve has never seen a guy like this before. Between the teased and tousled hair and leather platform boots the guy has gotta be standing at at least 6'3. He's wearing a thin, shredded tank top, although Steve's not entirely sure there's enough fabric for it to even qualify as a tank top anymore.

And don't even get Steve started on the...pants? Leggings? Black and leopard print with a fucking lace up front that leaves very little to the imagination. It isn't until Steve has taken in the plethora of accessories (including, but not limited to, a shiny pink headband, stringy silver scarf, and studded leather bracelets) that he realizes the guy is looking right back at him with poorly concealed delight on his ridiculously gorgeous face.

"Ah, fuck. He's looking at us. _Steve_ , he's looking at us!"

"Yeah, moron. I can see that," Steve says, fighting a blush, "What's his deal anyway?"

"That's Billy Hargrove," Dustin says, like that's supposed to explain everything.

"And?"

"And," Dustin sighs, "He's the fucking lead singer of The Indiana Strippers."

"Oh," Steve replies, as Billy flicks the butt of his cigarette, throws Steve a salacious fucking wink, and disappears back into the building. And okay, maybe Steve's feeling a little hot under the collar. But not cause of that guy. Or his stupid smirk. Or his stupid bulge. _Fuck_ , does Steve need to get laid.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?"

"Dustin," Steve starts, because they've been here before, with Dustin trying to wing-man him. And let's just say their success rate has been less than ideal.

"He wanted to eat you up," Dustin all but shouts, and heads are turning and Steve wants to die. But then the line starts moving and it becomes clear that they are really doing this. At the door the burly, greasy bouncer looks dubiously between Dustin and Dustin's fake I.D. as Dustin beams and Steve does his damnedest not to roll his eyes. In the end, the bouncer shrugs and lets them through. Steve's pretty sure this establishment can't be too picky about who they let in.

"Oh hell yeah," Dustin whoops as they round the corner and find the bar. Bodies are already piling in and filling out the space. It smells like stale beer, urine, and sweat, Steve notes with a wrinkled nose. The tacky red and yellow lighting hurts Steve's eyes and he's pretty sure his shoes are already stuck to the sticky floor. "Shots?" Dustin asks, elbowing Steve in the waist.

"Dustin, no," Steve tries, but Dustin's already ordering and Steve can't be bothered to stop him.

They manage 5 rounds of shots, rapid-fire, before the house lights go down and Dustin drags Steve along behind him as the die-hards rush the stage. Steve's not gonna say he's a light-weight, but he's feeling pretty damn good. Chill AF, as the kids say. He can totally pretend he's having a good time at this fucking stupid, disgusting, STI-riddled bar.

It isn't until the stage lights up that Steve realizes that Dustin has pulled him front and center. And that front and center is where they put the front man. The ridiculously gorgeous, big-bulge having front man. Who is staring right at Steve. The toes of his big glossy boots nudge Steve's fingers where Steve's clinging to the stage. He grips the mic stand and sinks down low, scarf swishing tantalizingly in front of Steve's nose.

"Well, well, well. Wasn't sure they'd let a Pretty Boy like you into a place like this," he rumbles, "But I'm glad they did." He winks again and Steve wants to hate it, but he doesn't. And then he's rising like the sun, like a God and the crowd goes wild as he leans into the mic and says loud and clear, "My name is Billy and we are The Indiana Strippers. Are you ready to fuckin' rock?" The question is met with hoots and hollers. Billy reaches up, cups a hand around his ear, "I can't fuckin' hear you. _I said_ , are you ready to fucking rock?!"

Steve just barely suppresses a wince as the crowd screams and wails, loudest of all Dustin.

"That's it. Can you feel it, boys? Can you feel the noise? Cum On Feel The Noize!"

And then Steve is laughing, because of course he knows this song. Everybody on the face of the planet knows this song. And Steve's got to hand it to them. To him. They're good. Billy is quite the showman; prowling the stage, gyrating his hips, grinding against the mic stand, tossing his tousled hair. By the time the song's done he's glistening with sweat and Steve is not going to lie, he is more than a little thirsty for those muscles.

Billy waggles his tongue and Steve can hear a few girls lose their minds. He can't honestly blame them. Billy is magnetic.

Billy sways as the guitarist strikes up the opening chords to their next song. "We've got a pretty good lookin' crowd here tonight. And now that we're feeling wet," Billy growls out, stroking a finger down the sweaty column of his throat, his sternum, "And ready...I think it's about time that we rock you. Like a hurricane!"

Steve finds himself hollering with the rest of the crowd, bouncing on his heels. _Maybe_ the eighties weren't so bad after all. He's sure he'll be getting an "I told you so" later, but for now Dustin is too busy holding his hat onto his head to keep it in place while he headbangs and Steve is having such a legitimately good time that he can't even find it in himself to be embarrassed.

And as much as Steve is enjoying the music, he finds himself enjoying the breaks in between even more. Because those are the moments when Billy's voice dips low, goes rough, and becomes punctuated with hot little pants as his glistening chest heaves for breath. And if Steve is getting a little hot under the collar, he's certain no one will be the wiser. Between the lights and the booze and the writhing throngs of sweaty bodies someone would have to be looking awfully close to discover the truth.

"Now _I know_ that you know that we don't do too many contemporary classics. But there's just somethin' about this one that really gets me going." Steve sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as Billy's hand slips between his legs and he cups himself, grunting as he gives a little squeeze much to the pleasure of the crowd. "There's a place in France where the naked ladies dance," he sings. And Steve doesn't know this song. "There's a hole in the wall where you put your cock and balls! But you never really know who's suckin' on the other side." But the longer it goes on, the hotter Steve feels.

"Baby! I don't wanna know who's suckin' my cock tonight. I'm goin' to the glory hole, gonna fuck it with all my might!" Steve's temples are throbbing, his mouth is dry, blood is rushing to his cock and he can't stop it. Because Billy is singing about cock sucking, and cupping himself, and rubbing at his nipples. And he's fucking _looking_ at Steve. Steve sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, pressing himself against the stage to hide his erection. His hasn't had a boner in public in years and now he has one for this stupid eighties era Barbie Doll on steroids.

Dustin thwacks him on the back excitedly as Billy drops to his knees and _crawls_ toward the front of the stage. Toward Steve.

"Come. Give your cock a chance. No need for romance. Come soil your pants at the glory hole. Come get what you need. Do the dirty deed. Deposit your seed at the glory hole. Fill somebody new at the glory hole. Fill someone with goo at the glory. No one judges you at the glory hole."

Billy grins like a fucking shark as he reaches out, tangling his fingers into Steve's hair, dragging him in close. Steve _wants_ to be mad when Billy starts thrusting his hips. He wants to be humiliated by the way Billy's bulge glances across his nose on more than one of those thrusts. And maybe he is. Billy is moaning into the mic and grinding against Steve's face. And maybe Steve likes it. But then Billy is letting him go and ruffling his hair and stalking back toward center stage.

Dustin is howling with delight. The crowd is whistling and jeering. And Steve is going to punch a hole through his dress pants with his dick. He feels sick with want. Steve reaches out, grips Dustin's bicep and drags him in close enough to spit out the word bathroom and then he's retreating.

Every fist bump, every clap on the back as he makes his way through the crowd makes his skin itch. Steve turns at least three corners before he finds an almost ominous looking door that has **WhAtEvEr** scrawled across the flaking paint and he shoulders it open. He can hear Billy's voice again as he takes in the sight before him with a grimace. The bathroom is even worse than the rest of the bar, with it's even stickier floor and curious, multi-coloured stains. He curls his fingers over the edge of the yellowed porcelain sink and stares at his reflection in the filthy mirror.

Steve is still hard, cock throbbing where it's lodge down the leg of his fitted dress pants. He watches as his reflection colours. The bathroom door swings open so suddenly that Steve jumps, instinctively clutching harder at the sink like the fucking thing's going to protect him. Steve's barely righted himself by the time the door slams shut. It's Billy. Billy who is locking the door behind them. Billy who is stalking forward until he's nearly pressed up against Steve's side. He meets Steve's eye in the mirror.

"I didn't scare you away just now. Did I, Pretty Boy?"

"N-no. I just, I had-"

"'Cause that really wasn't my intention," Billy continues, running a finger down Steve's spine. Steve shudders, licks his lips.

"No?"

"No," Billy growls, and then he's spinning Steve around and backing him up against the sink. Steve huffs out a little moan as Billy's thigh slots between his, as Billy's eyes widen at the feel of Steve's cock, achingly hard and obvious. "Well, what have we here?"

"Billy, I-"

"Mmm, I like the way you say my name, Pretty Boy," Billy says, fingers sinking back into Steve's hair, jerking his head back to bare his throat. "Tell me this is for me," he murmurs, rolling his hips into Steve's, giving Steve's cock a nudge with his thigh.

" _Fuck_ , yeah."

"Yeah? It's for me?"

"It's for you."

When Billy laughs it's low and dark, a rumble that starts at his chest and rises up his throat. Billy nuzzles into Steve's hair, right behind his ear, inhaling with a predatory growl. "God, the smell of you. So sweet. And _desperate_."

Steve wants to deny it, but he can't. His whole body is singing and Billy's barely touched him. "I- don't do this," is what he says instead. Because he doesn't. One night stands? Sure. But never in a place like this and never with a guy like Billy.

"Aww, I bet you say that to all the girls," Billy chuckles, stroking his fingers through Steve's hair, rocking his hips just right. "They'd never believe it though. Not with what you're packin'." Billy wrestles a hand between their bodies and cups Steve through his pants, stroking up and down, and they can both feel it surge beneath Billy's touch. " _Fuck_ ," Billy says reverently, "Y'know, this really wasn't how I saw this going..."

Steve wants to ask him what he means, but then Billy is sinking to his knees, reaching for Steve's belt buckle with deft fingers. Steve moans at the sight. The sight of Billy working Steve's belt open, of Billy reaching inside and drawing him out. The sight of Billy's awe and pleasure at his prize. "Jesus Christ," Billy rumbles, stroking the thick length of him. Billy's thumb catches against his cockhead and _glides_ because Steve is that fucking wet. That fucking ready for him. Billy whistles, sucks Steve's pre off his thumb, "Aren't you just a fuckin' treat, Sweetheart."

And then Billy grins, winks, and swallows Steve down without so much as a second thought. Steve howls, hands dropping to Billy's hair, sink counter digging painfully into his ass. Billy takes him all the way down, until his throat is fluttering and his eyes are watering. Steve bites down on his lip, hips jerking as Billy gags hard. He's about to apologize for it when Billy pulls off with a slick sound, a string of saliva snapping between them.

"That's it," Billy says, wrapping a hand around Steve's fingers, curling them into his hair and pulling, "Hold me, right here, and give it to me."

Steve is normally a lot more polite about this whole thing, but Billy is looking up at him, eyes dancing and so hungry. Steve tightens his hold until Billy's gasping, his jaw dropping open invitingly. Steve slides in slow this time, savours it, inch after inch until Billy's nose is pressed right against him. Holds it right there until Billy's mascara is running and his throat begins to flutter once more.

"Oh my God. Perfect, you're perfect."

Steve hears a snort and he's honestly not sure if Billy's laughing at him or choking on his dick, so he makes to pull back, but then Billy's hands are flying up and curling into the meat of Steve's ass, immobilizing him. Billy huffs around Steve's cock, expression half annoyed and half determined, and, okay, Billy's made himself crystal clear. He can take it. If he can take it, then Steve will give it.

Steve snaps his hips, whines at the feel of Billy's throat constricting around him. Between the slurps and huffs and gags Billy's moaning for it. Convinced that Steve will stay right where he wants him, Billy's hands drop to the front of his leggings, tugging the laces free. "Oh fuck, _fuck_ ," Steve swears as Billy pulls out his own cock. And he's nowhere as long or as thick as Steve is, very few are, but he's no chump.

Billy wraps a hand around his cock, pumps in time with Steve's vicious thrusts. And Steve is gonna come. "Billy, fuck, Billy, I'm close."

Billy rocks up, forcing his way back down Steve's cock, throat rippling as Billy swallows again and again, but it's the desperate little snuffle Billy gives against Steve's skin that has Steve blowing his load. Steve cries out, eyes slipping shut despite his best efforts as he pulses, spurt after spurt of hot come down Billy's throat. Steve lets Billy milk him until there's nothing left before slipping free.

Billy gasps for air, coughs and sputters, and comes in thick ropes that splatter against the filthy tile floor between Steve's legs. Billy mewls, head dropping forward against Steve's thigh as he shakes through it. "Hah- _ah, fuck_ , Pretty Boy."

Billy sounds like he's been gargling gravel and it makes Steve go hot all over again. Billy begins tucking himself away and Steve does the same. Billy stands slowly on trembling legs and Steve takes some of his weight against the counter. Billy's face is a mess; his eyeliner smudged, mascara streaked down his cheeks, lips red and swollen. At least his hair held up.

"Listen I, uh," Billy starts, clears his throat, brows furrowed, "I know you don't do this-"

"Right."

"Right...but, if you wanted to do this. Or, you know, not _this_ , but like with food? Shit."

Steve smiles. Beams. Because Stage Billy is something, but this Billy is something _else_.

"Like a date?" Steve ventures.

Billy shrugs, toys with his scarf, "Yeah, like a date."

Steve reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a pen, and Billy laughs. Steve wraps a hand around Billy's wrist, tugs his arm around to get to his forearm and writes his name and number. Billy stares at it, cheeks still flushed and lips turned up. "Don't sweat it off," Steve says.

"I won't. _Steve_." And then Billy's leaning in and kissing him, slow and deep and Steve can taste himself on Billy's tongue. They're both panting by the time Billy pulls away. "I gotta get back."

"So, I'll see you?" Billy asks, one foot out the door.

"You'll see me," Steve agrees, and then he's alone. He's still hot and sweaty, clothing sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He turns to face the mirror and wants to laugh, looks like he's been fucked six ways from Sunday. He has no idea how long he's been in here, it could be minutes or hours. He hopes Dustin's survived without him. Because Dustin has the tendency to do some dumb shit when Steve's not around. Then again, Steve's the one who just got blown in a dingy bar bathroom. So.

Billy's already up on stage by the time Steve begins making his way back through the crowd. And boy, does his voice sound rough. "Shit, sorry," he growls out, gesturing offstage until a mousy little thing comes running with up with a bottle of water, "You'd think I'd know better than to let my throat get reamed by ten fuckin' inches mid-set."

Steve feels the heat creep back up his neck as he sidles up next to Dustin.

"Where the fuck were you? Why do you look like that? Did you do shots without me?"

"But what can I say?" Billy purrs, "I'm a size queen. Isn't that right, _Steve_?"

Steve blinks at Dustin. Dustin blinks at Steve. Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.

"Steve."

"Dustin."

" _Steve_. Did you fu-"

Whatever else Dustin might have said is drowned out by Billy cackling into the microphone as the band starts up again. And if Steve recognizes the opening chords to I Think I'm In Love, he doesn't say a goddamn thing.


End file.
